The Next Beginning

Fat has followed me all my life.  At least as long as I can remember.  I’m not sure if I realized on my own that I was bigger than most kids or if it was pointed out to me by those closest to me, but either way I always knew I was different-looking.  I do, however, still remember the first time I was ever picked on about my weight.  I was 7, and a group of boys sitting at my lunch table decided it would be good sport.  Some of these same boys continued this like a favorite extra-curricular activity all the way through middle school too.  I wasn’t shocked by what they were saying; I had already come to the conclusion that I was fat, but I still spent that recess crying about what they said. Today, I don’t harbor any bitterness towards them, kids will be kids, but I do refer to these memories on occasion when I need to remind myself that it’s time to conquer what has become the biggest challenge of my life. 

I’ve had several “wake-up’ calls that should have been enough to propel me to the next level of success in my weight-loss journey.   The cruel remarks, the terrible pictures, the urges to avoid social situations like reunions; you name it, I’ve had it done or said to me.  Yet I still fall in to the same rut; I get excited, I try a new program, I lose a few pounds, then I fall off the wagon. “Just one cookie” turns in to a week of poor eating choices. Then I have a few social situations come up and I let the reigns slip a little more and before I know it, I’m back to square one.  Then I give up completely and the weight continues to go up. Once again, I receive a “wake-up call” and the cycle begins again. (I imagine that this pattern is what happens to people with substance abuse problems. I guess we are not so different) I tried dangerous quick-fixes; I did diet pills and attempted to starve myself in middle school.  In ninth grade I discovered that if I smoked a few cigarettes at lunch I wasn’t hungry all afternoon and I could go all day without eating till dinner at night.  This worked well for me because I didn’t like eating in front of my peers for fear of more teasing.  Then when I was at home I gorged.  As I got older, I tried things like Weight Watchers and strange fad diets I’d see on some infomercials.  My attempts would fail and my self-image would always take a beating.  I was very self-conscious in relationships when it came to intimacy as well.  Finally one wake-up call helped me make a little bit of progress; a guy I’d been dating for a year and a half decided to inform me that my weight was an issue.  Aside from all other issues between he and  I, I chose to use that as a time to change.  Cutting out almost all fat from of my diet and working out twice a day, I managed to lose 20 pounds in 2 months.  That relationship ended (thankfully) and I met my husband a few years later.  Paul was totally the opposite of most men I’d dated; he was accepting of me as I was and my weight was never a big deal for him.  However, I’d met a man who liked to eat as much as me.  I always say happiness ads a few pounds and in this case it was about 20 pounds again.  I continued the yo-yo while he was in Iraq and while I was planning our wedding.  Down and up, down and up.  Finally I quit smoking and that did it.  My weight exploded.  In almost 6 years I haven’t weighed less than 200 pounds.  I’m still losing the battle of losing.  

The day Grayson was born, I weight a frightening 268 pounds.  Yikes.  Within a few months, I joined Weight Watchers again and kept up my vigorous exercise routine. I also attempted to eat cleaner and with more whole / super foods.  I had my normal amount of life’s distractions happen; new job, vacations, exam certifications.  But I did manage to weigh in at 212 just after my friend’s wedding in August 2012.  It was a minor success but I still will not look at her wedding pictures.  I did not hit my goal (which at the time was 175 pounds).  In fact, I’d only lost the last 6 pounds in 5 months.  Then my husband got a promotion 3 hours away and we had to move.  So while I was attempting to find tenants for our home and take care of our son, and work part-time,  I assumed I would lose weight just from stress alone.  I thought that if my husband wasn’t around I’d be less tempted to eat the way he did (which was pretty bad).  Wrong and wrong.  I had no one to really be accountable to.  Food became my relaxation after my son went to bed and I was lying to myself about my portions.  By January 2013 I was 222 again.  Down, up, down, up.  Same-old same-old. 

I was really getting tired of this.

I’m now entering a time in my life where I feel more of a sense of urgency than ever. I’m over 30. I’ve had issues with gestational diabetes, and I want to get pregnant again, but I don’t want to put myself or my baby at risk by getting pregnant at this weight. I need to do something. Now.

I need to begin. Again.